His Land Called

1] A shoulder to cry on

1] A shoulder to cry on

March 3, 2006
Islamabad, Pakistan

Falak

It was a bright and sunny day. The birds were chirping and the flowers were blooming. Lush green grass could be seen the small front yard of my house. Everything looked perfect as I stood near the window of my room that was on the second floor.

I wondered how everything could look so beautiful when it was not. How could everything look so orderly, when it was not? Then again, what was I? I was a mere human. There were billions of others. Why would it matter to anyone if I was sad?

The whole day, people came to me, telling me everything was alright. At first, I felt that they were caring, but the feeling soon went away when I saw and heard them talk merrily as soon as the stepped foot out of my house.

Then I felt that they were just trying to give a good gesture, but that feeling too went away when I repeatedly heard the words, "I am so sorry. Just be strong and everything will be alright."

Now I only felt frustrated and angry. I knew that they couldn't do anything to help, but the least the could do was to stop telling me that everything was alright. I felt small and helpless whenever I heard those words, because I knew that everything was not alright.That day, I had only learnt one thing. Never say 'it is alright' to anyone who is going through desperate times.

I had lost my father. Nothing was alright. All I needed was a shoulder to cry on, not these words. Unfortunately, I didn't even have that. I thought of the time when I lost my mother. I was very young-about ten years old, but back then, there was my father to help me. To support me. Who was there now? No one.

My father had been so happy on the morning of March 1, 2006. He was happy for me. My husband had called him, telling he was going to visit for a week. He was going to arrive a week later and stay for a week. I was really nervous, but I did look forward to his visit. Baba constantly told me that I was going to have fun. Add usual, he dropped me off at my university that day and headed to his office. I was doing my masters in physics.

I was waiting for baba to pick me up when I had got a call.

"Miss Yusuf, can you please come to the police station?" A police officer had asked me.

"Why?"

"It's about your father." He answered my question. My heart beat quickened in pace.

"What? What happened to him?" I asked urgently.

"I am sorry to inform you that your father Mr. Shehzad Yusuf has passed away in a car accident." He said. I felt my head spin.

"What?" My voice came out in a small whisper.

"Yes. I'm really sorry for your loss. I will send a car to pick you up. Where are you?" He replied.

"Huh?" My mind couldn't comprehend his words.

"Where are you, miss?" He asked again. I told him.

"I'll send a car. Please stay there." He said and ended the call.

I slipped my phone in my purse and sat down where I was standing. At the stairs of the enterance. I just sat there, refusing to believe what I had been told. Without my knowing, tears came pouring out of my big brown eyes. I just sat there, oblivious of my surroundings. The university was almost empty and the few people who did pass me did not seem to notice a frail figure, sitting in the stairs, crying silently.

Soon enough, a police officer approached me.

"Miss Yusuf?" He asked me. I nodded. I don't know how he guessed it was me. Maybe it was the fact that I was crying or that I was probably the only person left in the premises.